


Water Cools Not Love

by the_rogue_bitch



Series: The Selkirk Grace [2]
Category: Lonesome Dove: The Outlaw Years
Genre: Bathing/Washing, Call bumbles his way through feels what are those, F/M, Heterosexual Sex, POV Female Character, Romance, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-05
Updated: 2014-09-05
Packaged: 2018-02-16 06:55:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,816
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2260167
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_rogue_bitch/pseuds/the_rogue_bitch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Water cools. Not love.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Water Cools Not Love

**Author's Note:**

> Major revisions as of 3/18/15 due to my awesome writing group. Much love and thanks.

The little Love-god lying once asleep,  
Laid by his side his heart-inflaming brand,  
Whilst many nymphs that vowed chaste life to keep  
Came tripping by; but in her maiden hand  
The fairest votary took up that fire  
Which many legions of true hearts had warmed;  
And so the General of hot desire  
Was, sleeping, by a virgin hand disarmed.  
This brand she quenched in a cool well by,  
Which from Love's fire took heat perpetual,  
Growing a bath and healthful remedy,  
For men diseased; but I, my mistress' thrall,  
Came there for cure and this by that I prove,  
Love's fire heats water, water cools not love. -- Sonnet 154, William Shakespeare.

**

Call was becoming accustomed to the fact that he had to bathe before I would allow him into my bed. Now it seemed as if he were faintly amused by it and maybe even looking forward to it a little, instead of sulking or protesting that he didn’t need no bath.

It was a quiet summer evening. Call had come riding up round about supper time, while I was eating on the porch. I’d shared my meal with him and he’d asked if he could stay. I’d been surprised the first time Call had asked if he might spend the night with me. He never presumed that just because he was there, it was a foregone conclusion he would be staying overnight. 

At least, not on his part. 

“Of course,” I said. “But you know the rule.”

“Oh, I know the rule,” Call agreed sardonically. He even hauled the tub in and filled it without prompting. 

Call had left his boots and gun belt by the door. When I came in from cleaning up in the kitchen and refilling the copper, I saw his clothes scattered around the hearth. I was startled to see that he had neglected to pull the screen around the tub as he usually did, and was climbing into it with his back to me. I’d seen Call undressed a few times by now, but he’d never displayed this level of comfort with me before.

I decided to pretend I hadn’t noticed and feign mending (even though it was my least favorite activity in the world), and walked over to my chair. I picked up a pair of trousers that was ripped across the seat.

Call was either acting, or he was genuinely oblivious to my presence. He leaned back in the tub. It wasn’t very large (otherwise I couldn’t drag it onto the porch and dump it when it was full), so his knees poked rather comically above the waterline. He sighed a deep, almost contented-sounding, sigh. He scooted around in the water a bit, wriggling as if working the tension out of his muscles.

I turned to my sewing, but some splashing soon caught my attention. I looked through my eyelashes at the next event.

Call leaned over to get the soap off the hearth and began to wash his feet. I’d never noticed what lovely feet he had. They were on the small side, with a high arch and graceful toes. And so grubby that the suds were turning grey. That was decidedly _not_ attractive. I went back to the mending for a while.

Then Call stood up. With his back to me, he soaped himself slowly from neck to knee. I got a full view of his whole backside -- the muscles in his legs, his wonderfully trim bottom, and his back, punctuated with scars.

The soaping went on, Call methodically cleansing one leg, then the other, and further up. Then he absently cleaned around his front, out of my view.

I gave up any pretense of sewing. 

Call bent over and retrieved the pitcher next to the tub. He filled it and rinsed himself off. I couldn’t stand watching the water curtain off him like that, down the carved channel in his back, caressing his posterior and draining off his legs into the tub, washing the soap off every slim and wiry inch of him. I bit my lip, feeling myself flush. My breath caught on a tiny whimper. Call seemed not to have heard me. He sat back down in the tub and poured water over his head. He washed his face and hair and rinsed again. 

Then he looked right at me and grinned a sly, smug grin.

“Damn you, Call,” I said, smiling back. 

“Clean enough for your bed now?”

“ _You’re_ clean, but now _I_ feel all dirty,” I replied.

Call didn't say anything, wearing only a grin as he dragged the tub out to empty it.

_Well, **fine** , Call,_ I thought in annoyance, returning rebelliously to my mending. 

He came back with the tub and started refilling it. I watched with some interest, wondering what he had planned. He strode over to me, stark naked and damp, and pulled me upright by my wrist. 

“Maybe _you_ should take a bath," he said, deadpan, his eyes twinkling.

“I don’t need one."

“Don’t want to get the sheets all grubby,” Call used my words against me. "Can’t let that happen, so come on, get undressed."

“All _right_.” I said, amused by this turn of events. “There are bath salts on the mantel. Pick one you like.”

Call chose a box at the end, sprinkling the contents of one of the packets into the water. The scent of lilies of the valley rose around us.

"Well?” Call inquired, arms crossed. 

I shook my hair out of its short ponytail and unbuttoned my blouse as Call watched intently. I slipped it off my shoulders, dropping it onto the floor. Call’s eyes widened when he saw I wasn’t wearing anything underneath -- I was all bare flesh. The same was true for my trousers. I noticed the way his breath sped up at that.

“Into the tub,” he commanded, voice hoarse.

I stepped in, acting prim, and sat. Call knelt next to the tub and lifted one of my feet. Taking the soap, he lathered his hands and rubbed the suds into my foot and up my leg as far as the knee.

He was very gentle. I relaxed against the tub as he soaped my foot and leg. 

“That feels real good, Call,” I sighed. He didn’t reply, simply lifting the other foot and continuing his attentions. It was so soothing that I dozed off.

“Aden." I felt water being flicked onto my face. “Aden, stand up.”

I blinked and shook my head. 

“Sorry." 

Call stood and offered a hand to me. My eyes were drawn up his body as I rose, gaze taking in the blond hair dusting his body, crisply dark around his sack. I was pleased to see his evident arousal, proud against his taut stomach and its mysterious scars, firm chest (also scarred) and flat nipples. Then up to his face, his beard also blond now that it was clean, expressive lips, turned-up nose, and dark sapphire eyes. I smiled.

“Why are you washing me, anyway?” I asked.

“Figure we should both be clean. Just to make it fair.” He worked the bar of soap in his hands until it foamed.

“But I’m not really dirty,” I protested. Call rubbed the soap into my hand and gave me a penetrating look. 

“Yes, you are," Call's gaze was appreciative, giving the lie to the puritanical words.

I bit my lip and looked down self-consciously, feeling heat flare in my lower region. "Why, Mr. Call, you do have a way with words."

He soaped up my left arm, his long fingers graceful and firm. Up my shoulder, around my throat in circular motions, then down my right arm. Then Call re-lathered the soap and started on my chest.

Both slick soapy hands massaged the whole of my torso, coating me with white bubbles. Call then paid more ardent attention to my breasts. With sweeps of his fingertips he made tracks in the froth, spiralling inward towards my nipples.

I closed my eyes and felt Call’s breath hitting my collarbones. The only sound was the faint crackling of the fire. I trembled, wanting the moment to resolve itself.

Call’s thumbs made a broad swathe over my breasts, slippery with soap. I jumped a little, whimpering. Call slid one hand down to my waist, holding me up, and caressed the other nipple, using his slick fingers to tease it into a bundle of needy urgency.

“Open your eyes,” Call ordered. I did and looked down to where his hands were.

“I take it these are places that need extra attention?” I breathed.

Call nodded once. 

"Never know where filth will creep in,” he replied, all seriousness, sliding his other hand back to my breast and continuing his ministrations. "Need to keep these beautiful."

I smiled slightly and then gasped as Call kept on sliding his hands over and around me, smearing suds all over my breasts and nipples. I felt as if there were a burning coal between my legs and every time Call stroked me, it flared. I shifted my hips, rubbing my thighs together. Call watched my face intently, seeming to memorize the effect he was having on me.

"Call," I whispered, swaying, arousal making me unsteady. Call stopped abruptly, taking my wrist and turning me around. He briskly soaped my back, buttocks, and thighs.

“Bet it’s real dirty in here.” Call said from behind me, parting my legs. He knelt and rinsed his hands in the water and brought them back up to me, dripping.

"That does not see nearly enough use to get even a little bit soiled," I replied.

“Now that is a damn shame," Call sounded as if he were smiling. "Kind of makes doing this unnecessary." He stroked me gently. 

"Don't let that stop you." I jiggled my hips, spreading my legs a little more. I heard Call huff a laugh that I felt travel up my back as he stood. 

Call pulled me against him, arm around my hip, hand travelling downwards, other arm across my chest, one hand cupping my breast. I couldn’t see him at all. I just felt his hand between my legs, opening me and stroking my sex, sending sparks of sensation up my spine. I felt his excitement press into my back, hard and hot. His breath was soft in my ear as he held me steady, and I shook against him, holding onto his forearm, letting out soft cries. He never created enough of a rhythm to get me to my crisis; it seemed more like he was both teasing me, and figuring out how I worked. 

Finally, I couldn’t take it anymore. “I think you’ve done enough down there,” I gasped. My sweat made rivulets in the soap on my skin.

Call kissed the back of my neck and released me, turning me to face him once again.

“Am I clean enough yet?” I asked.

“Nope. Your hair still needs washing. Sit.”

I was happy to do so, my legs weak from the way Call had held me at the edge of completion. I was so shaky with arousal I felt that I might topple out of the tub.

Call filled the pitcher and poured it over my head, warning me to close my eyes first. Then he worked the soap into my hair gently. I moaned again, feeling languorous. I had never had my hair washed as an adult. It was a thoroughly sensual experience. I let my head fall back into Call’s hands, eyes closed.

I felt him shift position and then his mouth was on mine in a firm kiss. I lifted a dripping hand and traced his cheekbone with two fingers, and he shivered.

“Watch out,” he said, and I felt water cascade over my head, rinsing my hair. A towel wiped my eyes and I looked into Call’s face.

“I must be clean enough now,” I said. 

“You are, but you need drying.”

Call helped me out of the tub and wrapped his towel around me. He briskly rubbed me dry, unconcerned with differentiating between my inflamed parts and my regular parts. When he finished I felt thoroughly tumbled and my skin tingled.

“How about now?” I asked.

“Now your hair needs combing,” he said, smiling slightly.

_To hell with this_ , I thought. I grabbed the towel Call was still holding and pulled him to me. I seized the back of his neck, pulling his head down, and kissed him so hard I scraped my lips on his teeth. He responded in kind, wrapping the towel round my back and holding me against him with it. We had a frenzied, almost animalistic, few moments of kissing, and then we toppled in slow motion onto the hearthrug, ending up with me on top of Call.

“Wondered when you was going to get tired of me teasing you,” Call smiled up at me. “You got a lot of patience.”

“You’re a good bath slave,” I replied, wiggling atop him. He had bony hips.“I had to take advantage.”

“Hey, careful,” Call cupped my bottom in his hands and shifted me around a little. His shaft nestled alongside my hipbone.

This was different and I found that I liked it. “Can you be inside me like this?”

Call looked a little surprised at the question. “Do you want me to be?”

“Yes,” I said.

Call instructed me to kneel over him, and his hand fumbled between us. Then I felt his arousal, its hot head nudging into me.

“Lower yourself down,” Call said, resting his hands on my waist.

Since it was strenuous holding myself up, I did just that. He inhaled sharply as he slid into me, and I adjusted to the pleasurable stretch and burn of it.

“Now what?” I asked.

“Do what you like. What feels good,” Call stroked my side, from armpit to hip. He looked very gentle. He always did when we were being intimate. When he concerned himself with my pleasure was the only time I ever saw him truly unguarded.

Call’s pressure inside me pleased me in ways I hadn’t known before. I moved up and down slightly. I liked this, so I did it again, adding more length to the strokes. Call seemed to approve, as he started moving his hips to time his thrusts with them.

“Is this good?” I asked Call, watching the firelight limn his features.

He reached up, cupped my face and then ran his hand down to my breast. Thrusting in particularly hard (which caused me to buck and gasp), he said diffidently, “Ain’t bad.”

“Ain’t _bad_?” 

There was an evil gleam in his eye, so I stopped moving completely and sat on him, arms crossed over my chest. “What would make it better?”

“You could start moving again.”

“Like this?” I rotated my hips in a slow circle, enjoying the look of surprise on his face.

“It’s a start,” he gasped.

“What about this?” I undulated in a figure-eight pattern, to which Call’s response was a resonant moan.

That was my feeling, too, this particular motion felt wonderful. I kept at it. I felt something in me, like a distant star that I was reaching for. Every sweep of my hips brought it closer. I looked down at Call, whose eyes were closed. He wore a furrowed-brow look of intense concentration.

I lay down, legs stretched out parallel to his, and rested my arms next to his shoulders. This position made the sensation even more intense, and Call’s motions became more aggressive, his fingers digging into my hips as he held me.

“Aden,” Call gasped out, tone a warning. I looked at him and smiled, not stopping.

“Go ahead, Call,” I said, “You can.”

Call bucked into me swiftly a few times, gritting his teeth. I felt him pulse inside me as he groaned, back arching. 

His fierceness triggered me and I felt that distant star flash through my head as I was engulfed in a blizzard of sensation. I collapsed onto Call’s chest, heart racing.

I came back to myself to the feel of Call stroking my back. I sighed in contentment.

“Feeling all right?” 

“Oh, yes. You?”

“Not too bad.”

I wriggled off Call and lay down next to him. Something caught my eye. I grabbed Call’s shoulder and rolled him, ignoring his surprised, “Hey!” so I could see his back a little better. 

Laying on the hearthrug had caused Call’s skin to become streaked with soot. I looked down at myself. I was greyish on my knees and arms with the same.

“Oh, damn!” I exclaimed. “Looks as if we’re both going to need another bath!”

Call rolled back over and glared at me. I started laughing. 

I continued to laugh even after Call picked me up and dropped me into the still-full tub, and I pulled him into the cold water after me.


End file.
